SO, AUTHOR J. A. JACKSON…
WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING LATELY?

An Extremely Serious Interview with an Author Who Has Absolutely No Intention of Being Serious

“So, Author J. A. Jackson, what have you been doing lately?”

Excuse me?

What did you just ask me?

What have I been doing lately?

I stared at the person interviewing me.

They stared back.

Apparently, they expected an answer.

My first thought was:

PANIC?

My second thought was:

CRY?

My third thought was:

TAKE A NAP AND HOPE THIS PERSON IS GONE WHEN I WAKE UP?

Instead, I took a long, suspicious look at the person sitting across from me and wondered exactly when this innocent little interview had turned into a GET-IN-J. A. JACKSON'S-BUSINESS INVESTIGATION.

Really?

Seriously?

You want to know what I've been doing in 2026?

HOW LONG HAVE YOU GOT?

Pull up a chair.

Get comfortable.

I'll try not to wonder why I agreed to this interview in the first place.

Actually…

What was the question again?

Oh, yes.

“What have you been doing lately?”

Are you sure you don't want me to sing Janet Jackson's famous song about that instead?

No?

Okay.

How about this:

Would you like some peanut butter cookies?

I make excellent peanut butter cookies.

I'll even put extra peanut butter in them.

Why?

BECAUSE WHILE YOU'RE CHEWING, YOU CAN'T ASK ME ANY MORE QUESTIONS.

Unfortunately, my interviewer wasn't falling for it.

Apparently, this person had been promised material for a Fabulous Newsletter and wasn't leaving without it.

Fine.

You win.

Let me tell you what Author J. A. Jackson has been doing lately.

I'VE BEEN INTERVIEWING PEOPLE WHO DON'T EXIST.

There.

I said it.

I have been interviewing characters for my upcoming books.

Yes.

Interviewing them.

Sometimes weekly.

Sometimes daily.

Sometimes at ridiculous hours when respectable fictional people should be asleep.

But my characters are not respectable.

They live rent-free in my head, eat all the imaginary food, create unnecessary drama, fall in love with inappropriate people, uncover family secrets nobody asked them to uncover—and then have the nerve to wake me up with ideas.

These pesky little boogers never leave me alone.

Yes.

I said BOOGERS.

Because some characters are exactly like that dried little clump of nasal foolishness you wake up with in the morning.

You didn't invite it.

You don't know where it came from.

But somehow—

THERE IT IS.

And now you have to deal with it.

Welcome to the glamorous life of an author.

AUDITIONS ARE NOW OPEN!

Before I allow one of these people to become the hero or heroine of an entire novel, I need to know something important:

CAN YOU CARRY A STORY?

Being handsome isn't enough.

Being beautiful isn't enough.

Having abs that could grate Parmesan cheese?

Impressive.

But still not enough.

I need to know how my characters behave when life goes completely off the rails.

So I pull out my trusty list of Character Interview Questions.

And that's when things get weird.

Very weird.

QUESTION #1: THE GROCERY CART CATASTROPHE

You're in the grocery store.

Your cart suddenly breaks.

One wheel flies toward Frozen Foods.

Your eggs hit the floor.

Your oranges roll into Produce.

Your toilet paper sails past an elderly woman.

And your family-size package of underwear lands directly in front of the most attractive person you've seen in six months.

What is the FIRST thing you do?

A. Scream.

B. Pretend none of it belongs to you.

C. Blame Walmart.

D. Pick up the underwear, look the attractive stranger directly in the eye and say, “Well… since you've already seen them…”

Now THAT tells me something about a character.

THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

A zombie outbreak starts RIGHT NOW.

What completely useless, non-weapon item does my character insist on saving?

Family photographs?

Coffee maker?

Favorite shoes?

A forty-seven-inch television?

Grandmère's cast-iron skillet?

The Wi-Fi router?

Wait.

WHY ARE YOU TAKING THE ROUTER?

The zombies have eaten Comcast.

THERE IS NO INTERNET.

Put it down and RUN!

THE GREAT WI-FI MELTDOWN

The internet disappears for one entire week.

How long before my character loses it?

Five minutes?

Three hours?

Day two?

Or does my character stand in the middle of the living room holding the router over their head screaming:

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?
I'VE ALREADY UNPLUGGED YOU AND PLUGGED YOU BACK IN!”

This is important character development, people.

I am a professional.

Please try to keep up.

THE UNATTENDED FRENCH FRY TEST

Would my character steal one French fry from a stranger's unattended plate if they were starving and 100% certain nobody was looking?

Think carefully.

Because today it's one French fry.

Tomorrow it's someone's inheritance.

Then somebody discovers Grandma changed the will.

Next thing you know, there are three bodies, a suspicious butler and a detective named Earl asking questions.

This is how novels happen.

THE EMERGENCY HAIR QUESTION

My character wakes up on the morning of the most important event of their life.

Wedding.

Job interview.

Book signing.

Meeting with the President.

Whatever.

Their hair is frozen into a shape resembling a frightened porcupine struck by lightning.

What do they do?

Panic? Cry? Cancel? Wear a bucket?

Or walk outside and announce:

“YES. I MEANT TO DO THIS.”

That's the character I want.

THE 3:00 A.M. TOE TEST

My character gets out of bed at three in the morning and stubs their little toe against the coffee table.

What happens next?

Do they whisper:

“Oh, excuse me, Mr. Coffee Table.”

Or do they invent a curse word so powerful that somewhere in Louisiana Grandmère Catherine suddenly sits straight up in bed and says:

“WHO SAID THAT?”

Important questions.

Important research.

This is literature, my darlings.

BUT WAIT—THERE'S MORE.

Someone leaves my character ON READ for four days after a perfectly normal text.

How long before the revenge fantasy begins?

Day one: They're probably busy.

Day two: Maybe their phone died.

Day three: Perhaps they were kidnapped.

Day four:

I HOPE THEY WERE KIDNAPPED.

Because now my character has planned an entire imaginary courtroom trial, divorce, funeral and revenge sequence—and these two people weren't even dating.

EXCELLENT.
YOU'RE HIRED.

Welcome to the book.

AT THIS POINT, MY INTERVIEWER LOOKED CONCERNED.

I leaned back in my chair.

“Well?”

Silence.

“Didn't you think any of that was funny?”

More silence.

I narrowed my eyes.

“What's wrong with you?”

My interviewer slowly looked down at their notes.

I continued.

“And another thing. Are you buying me dinner after all this?”

Apparently not.

Fine.

I'm keeping my peanut butter cookies.

BUT SERIOUSLY, MY DARLINGS…

Yes, I wrote this quirky little story because somebody needed material for my latest newsletter.

But the truth is, this really is part of how stories happen for me.

Characters arrive.

Sometimes quietly.

Sometimes loudly.

Sometimes they practically kick down the front door of my imagination and announce:

“MOVE OVER.
THIS BOOK IS ABOUT ME.”

And I listen.

I ask questions.

I imagine impossible situations.

I let them argue with me.

And eventually those strange little conversations become mysteries, romances, betrayals, weddings, legends, magical adventures, family secrets—and sometimes a very suspicious cannoli.

And if you enjoyed spending these few ridiculous minutes inside my head…

YOU SHOULD SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I WRITE AN ENTIRE BOOK.

Because I've been busy.

VERY BUSY.

We're talking legendary queens of California.

Hidden bloodlines. Contractual fiancés. Matchmakers. Wedding planners. Italian chefs. Secret recipes. Paranormal dreams. Women remembering lives that may never have belonged to them.

The California Magic Gang.

A Christmas bride who disappeared forty years ago.

Magic in Firebaugh, California.

Mysteries around the Berkeley BART station and Telegraph Avenue.

And, because apparently I don't know when to stop—

Sweet Pepper Cajun recipes to impress your family and friends.

I told you not to ask me what I've been doing lately.

But you wouldn't listen.

★ COMING FROM AUTHOR J. A. JACKSON ★

LATE 2026 THROUGH 2027

The Deceiver's Vow
The Deceiver's Secret Series, Book III

The Deceiver's Secret — New Edition

The CROWN And The ROSE

The Contractual Fiancée
An ancient queen. A hidden bloodline. A contractual fiancé.

The Matchmaker, the Makeover and Matteo Costa's Last Pork Schiacciata

The Matchmaker, the Wedding Planner, and Dante Costa's Secret Recipe

WHEN A TAKER DREAMS — BOOK III: WHEN THE MATCHMAKER DREAMS

The California Magic Gang and the Christmas Bride Who Never Arrived

The Matchmaker, the Wedding Planner, and Luca Costa's Last Cannoli — Book II

The Woman Who Remembered Lives That Were Never Hers

The Law of Ending

WHEW.

Are you happy now?

You asked what I've been doing.

THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN DOING.

Writing.

Rewriting.

Creating characters.

Interviewing imaginary people.

Arguing with imaginary people.

Falling in love with imaginary people.

Occasionally threatening imaginary people.

And drinking something while wondering why these imaginary people refuse to follow the outline I painstakingly created for them.

Such is the glamorous life of an author.

Now—

if this interview is finally over—

I'm going to make those peanut butter cookies.

And NO…

YOU CAN'T HAVE ONE.

You should have minded your business.

With love, laughter, books & just a little bit of magic,

Author J. A. Jackson

Take time off from the world…
Enter the mind of Author J. A. Jackson.

And whatever you do—

DON'T ASK WHAT SHE'S BEEN DOING LATELY.

Join My ARC Team Be The First To Read My Books!

```html

J. A. Jackson ARC Team Application

United States Readers

Thank you for your interest in joining my ARC team. I’m inviting readers to apply for a free advance copy of the first ten chapters of one of the books below and share their honest first impressions.

Books Available for Consideration

• The Matchmaker, the Makeover and Matteo Costa’s Last Pork Schiacciata
• Lovers, Players, Seducers Book IV: When Lavender Meets Flint! It’s Magic!
• Lovers, Players, Seducers Book V: Kadira & Mateo
• Lovers, Players, Seducers Book III: The Betrayal of Nicholas La Cour
• Deceiver Secret Book II
• Deceiver Secret Book III: The Deceiver’s Row
• When A Taker Dreams Book II
• The Contractual Fiancée
• The Crown & The Rose

PLEASE LIST THE BOOK YOU WISH TO READ HERE:

For Readers Interested in The Contractual Fiancée

An ancient queen.
A hidden bloodline.
A contractual fiancé.

When a mysterious parchment connects Olivia Jackson to the legendary Queen Califia, an ancient covenant awakens. As the Living Veil weakens, Olivia and Rowan DeVille face danger, family secrets, and an unexpected attraction.

The launch of The Contractual Fiancée is planned for February 2027. I’ll share confirmed launch dates and review timing for each book with selected readers.

California and West Coast readers may receive priority for local launch opportunities, but readers throughout the United States are welcome to apply. Applying does not guarantee an advance or print copy.

Application Questions

Fields marked * are required.

1. Email address *

2. Full name *

3. Which book would you like to read? *

4. Where do you live? *

☐ California
☐ Another West Coast state
☐ Another U.S. state

5. City or region (optional; for possible local launch invitations)

6. What kinds of books do you enjoy? Select all that apply. *

☐ Contemporary romance
☐ Romantic suspense
☐ Paranormal or fantasy romance
☐ Family secrets and drama
☐ California history or folklore
☐ Other: ______________________________________

7. Where do you usually share book reviews? Select all that apply. *

☐ Amazon
☐ Goodreads
☐ The StoryGraph
☐ BookTok, Bookstagram, or BookX
☐ Personal blog
☐ Other: ______________________________________

8. Links to your public reviewer profiles or social accounts (optional)

9. Preferred reading format *

☐ EPUB
☐ PDF
☐ I’m interested in a print copy if one is available

10. ARC understanding *

☐ I understand that the advance copy contains only the first ten chapters of my selected book. If I share a review or first impressions, I will make clear that my comments are based on those chapters. My feedback may be positive, mixed, or critical.

Review Timing & Privacy

Selected readers will receive the advance copy and details about review timing. An honest review is appreciated but is not required in exchange for the copy.

Your email address and location will be used to contact you about this ARC and possible local launch opportunities. Please do not include a mailing address in this application.

J. A. Jackson

Email:
jerreecejackson@gmail.com

Blog:
J. A. Jackson's Blog

Amazon Author Page:
Visit J. A. Jackson on Amazon

ARC Application Document

Complete or review the ARC application in the Google document below.

Thank you for your interest in reading J. A. Jackson!

Romance • Mystery • Suspense • Magic • California Stories

ALL ABOARD!

The Misery-Loves-Com-Pany
Petty Cruiser Express

A little comedy about Negative Betty, Negative Bob, Gertrude—and the rest of the people we can never quite escape.

By J. A. Jackson

---

There comes a moment in every grown person's life when you realize something both beautiful and deeply disappointing:

Retirement does not mean you have retired from people.

Oh, no.

You may have retired from the job.

You may have turned in your badge, cleaned out your desk, deleted seventeen passwords you never wanted to remember in the first place, and carried your favorite coffee mug out of the building like an Olympic torch.

You may even have driven away from your former workplace singing, "FREE AT LAST!" loud enough to frighten people at the stoplight.

But somewhere, somehow, a Negative Betty is still waiting for you.

And if Betty can't make it?

Don't worry.

Gertrude has your address.

I had once believed retirement meant I would finally be free from the Gertrudes of this world.

You know Gertrude.

Everybody knows a Gertrude.

Gertrude can walk into a room where somebody just won the lottery and say, "Well, you know you're going to have to pay taxes on that."

She can attend a beautiful wedding and whisper, "I give it eighteen months."

She can look at a newborn baby and say, "Cute. Hopefully, he'll grow into those ears."

Gertrude does not merely see the glass as half empty.

Gertrude wants to know who drank the other half without permission.

Then there is Negative Betty.

Betty is Gertrude's spiritual cousin.

You can tell Betty, "It's a beautiful day."

Betty will look suspiciously at the sky.

"Too beautiful. Probably earthquake weather."

Tell her you planted roses.

"Aphids."

Bought a new car?

"Depreciation."

Going on vacation?

"Bedbugs."

Got a promotion?

"More taxes."

Lost ten pounds?

"You'll probably gain twelve back."

Found five dollars on the sidewalk?

"Somebody probably died there."

Betty has never met a silver lining she couldn't beat to death with a dark cloud.

And naturally, Negative Betty is frequently accompanied by Negative Bob.

Bob is equally gifted.

Bob doesn't just complain.

Bob provides supporting documentation.

If you casually mention that eggs are expensive, Bob has charts.

If somebody says traffic seems bad, Bob knows which mayor started it, what year it happened, and why civilization has been collapsing ever since they installed that second stoplight near the supermarket.

And then we have the most powerful member of this fascinating species:

MR. CRAP STARTER.

Mr. Crap Starter can enter a peaceful family barbecue where seventeen relatives are eating ribs and potato salad and announce:

"So… nobody's going to talk about what happened at Thanksgiving?"

Sir.

Please.

People are eating.

---

Then Retirement Taught Me the Terrible Truth

These people don't disappear when you leave the workforce.

They scatter.

Some are relatives.

Some attend your church.

Some belong to your book club.

Some live three houses down.

And sometimes—because apparently the Universe enjoys comedy—they live right next door.

Which brings me to the afternoon my muse saved me.

I had gone outside to check the mail.

That was all.

I wasn't seeking adventure.

I wasn't looking for enlightenment.

I wasn't trying to uncover the meaning of life.

I wanted my mail.

I had almost reached the safety of my front door when I heard it.

"Well, helloooooo!"

My hand froze on the mailbox.

Every cell in my body knew that voice.

Negative Betty.

I turned slowly.

There she stood.

And beside her?

Bob.

Of course Bob was there.

They approached with the determined stride of two people carrying information nobody had requested.

"Have you noticed what's happening around here?" Betty asked.

I had not.

But apparently, I was about to.

Bob immediately joined in.

"And another thing—"

Those three words should come with an emergency alert.

AND ANOTHER THING.

Because nobody has ever followed "and another thing" with:

"You're wonderful."

No.

"And another thing" means buckle up, buttercup.

A complaint is coming.

Betty took my left ear.

Bob claimed the right.

Not physically, mind you.

But spiritually?

My ears were hostages.

Betty complained about the neighborhood.

Bob complained about prices.

Betty complained about somebody's garbage cans.

Bob complained about somebody parking incorrectly.

Betty complained about somebody else's grass.

Bob apparently had strong feelings about delivery trucks.

They talked.

And talked.

And talked.

I nodded occasionally.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Oh."

"Really?"

These are the sacred survival words of a person whose soul has already left the conversation.

---

And Then My Mind Rescued Me

Something miraculous happened.

My mind simply said:

Girl, come with me.

And suddenly, I was gone.

Not physically.

Physically, I remained beside my mailbox holding three pieces of junk mail and a grocery store flyer.

But mentally?

I was standing at a magnificent harbor beneath a golden sunset.

And coming toward the dock was the largest, most spectacular cruise ship I had ever seen.

She was enormous.

She was elegant.

She was gleaming.

And painted across her side in giant gold letters were the words:

ALL ABOARD

THE MISERY-LOVES-COM-PANY

PETTY CRUISER EXPRESS

I nearly cried.

She was beautiful.

A brass band began playing.

The boarding ramp lowered.

Then came an announcement.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome aboard the Misery-Loves-Com-Pany Petty Cruiser Express, where every complaint is complimentary!"

I stared in wonder.

Negative Betty appeared at the boarding gate.

She looked thrilled.

Bob stood beside her carrying three suitcases and what appeared to be a binder labeled THINGS WRONG WITH THE NEIGHBORHOOD.

"Welcome aboard!" cried the cruise director.

Behind them came Gertrude.

Then another Betty.

Then a Gilbert.

Then a Gil.

Then three Bobs.

Then a woman dragging two enormous suitcases labeled OLD GRUDGES and THINGS PEOPLE SAID IN 1997.

The crowd erupted in applause.

Apparently, these were preferred passengers.

---

Welcome to the World's Pettiest Luxury Cruise

The ship had everything they could possibly desire.

There was the All-You-Can-Complain Buffet, open twenty-four hours a day.

The Grievance Lounge, where every table came equipped with a manager you could demand to speak to.

The Petty Casino, where passengers could gamble using other people's business.

The I Told You So Theater offered two shows nightly.

At the spa, guests could receive the signature Hot Stone Resentment Treatment, during which heated grievances were placed directly upon the shoulders and carried for another twenty years.

There was even a special observation deck called The Judgment Balcony, where passengers could stand with binoculars and criticize strangers from a safe distance.

It was paradise.

For them.

The captain's voice came over the loudspeaker.

"Attention passengers. Tonight's activities include Competitive Gossip at six, Jumping to Conclusions at seven, and our annual Making Something Out of Nothing Championship at eight."

Betty squealed.

Bob checked the schedule.

"I hope they organized it properly."

Of course he did.

BWAAAAAAAH!

The horn blasted.

The great ship began pulling away from the dock.

I stood waving.

Not because I wanted anything terrible to happen to them.

Heavens, no.

I am a writer.

This is satire.

Nobody is actually being shipped anywhere.

But in my imagination?

Oh, my darlings.

That ship was sailing.

The Misery-Loves-Com-Pany Petty Cruiser Express glided across the sparkling ocean, carrying every unnecessary complaint, unsolicited opinion, recycled family argument, neighborhood grievance, workplace feud, passive-aggressive remark, and twenty-year-old grudge that had ever disturbed somebody's peaceful afternoon.

The passengers were having the time of their lives.

One woman was already complaining that the ocean was too wet.

A man wanted to speak to someone about the sunset.

Gertrude had discovered the dessert bar.

"These cakes are too sweet."

Naturally.

Gilbert was upset because his cabin had an ocean view.

"I specifically asked for something quieter."

Sir.

You are on a ship.

Bob had cornered the captain.

"And another thing—"

The captain looked terrified.

For one glorious moment, I felt sorry for him.

Then I remembered this was my daydream.

I gave him a lifeboat.

Meanwhile, the ship continued toward its completely fictional destination near the Bermuda Triangle, where, in my imagination, all petty complaints would mysteriously disappear into a giant cosmic suggestion box.

Not the people.

Just the nonsense.

Even my imagination has rules.

---

Back at the Mailbox...

Suddenly, a voice broke through.

"Are you listening to me?"

The ocean vanished.

The cruise ship disappeared.

The brass band stopped.

I was back beside my mailbox.

Betty was staring at me.

Bob was staring at me.

Apparently, I had been smiling.

This concerned them.

"Are you okay?" Betty asked.

"Oh, I'm wonderful," I said.

And for once, I meant it.

Bob frowned.

"What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing."

Because how could I possibly explain it?

How could I tell them that thirty seconds earlier, they had been enjoying unlimited access to the Grievance Lounge while sailing toward a cosmic Bermuda Triangle aboard a luxury cruise ship designed specifically for chronically dissatisfied people?

Some things should remain between a woman and her muse.

I gathered my mail.

"Well, I'd better get inside."

Betty nodded.

"We were just saying—"

"Oh, I know."

I smiled sweetly.

"I heard everything."

Technically, that was questionable.

But spiritually, I felt comfortable with the statement.

---

The Lesson I Learned From the Petty Cruiser Express

I walked toward my house while Betty and Bob remained near the sidewalk, already moving on to their next topic.

And that's when I realized something.

Maybe we can't escape every Negative Betty.

Maybe Gertrude will always find us.

Maybe Bob will forever have "another thing."

Maybe Mr. Crap Starter will continue showing up at family gatherings with a wooden spoon and an overwhelming desire to stir a pot nobody asked him to touch.

But we don't have to board their ship.

That's the trick.

Other people's misery does not require our membership.

Their complaints do not need permanent residence inside our heads.

Their negativity doesn't automatically become our negativity simply because they delivered it personally.

Sometimes, the healthiest thing you can do is smile, nod, protect your peace—and mentally book them a cruise.

So the next time someone corners you at work, church, the grocery store, a family reunion, or beside your own innocent mailbox and starts pouring doom into both your ears, don't argue.

Don't panic.

Don't even run.

Just close your eyes for half a second.

Listen carefully.

Far off in the distance, you may hear it.

BWAAAAAAAH!

That's the horn.

The boarding ramp is lowering.

The buffet is open.

The Grievance Lounge has plenty of seating.

And the magnificent Misery-Loves-Com-Pany Petty Cruiser Express is preparing to sail.

Bon voyage, Betty.

Safe travels, Bob.

Gertrude, sweetheart, your cabin is ready.

And Mr. Crap Starter?

Please report immediately to the Lido Deck.

They're expecting you.

This has been a work of comedy and imagination. No Negative Bettys, Bobs, Gertrudes, Gils, Gilberts, or professional Crap Starters were harmed during the writing of this story.

Although several were mentally upgraded to ocean-view cabins.

And frankly?

They complained about those, too.

---

Written by J. A. Jackson

Finding humor, imagination, and a little magic in the people and moments that make life interesting.

Until next time, protect your peace—and listen for the cruise ship horn.

Envy No One for Whatever You See

A Price Was Paid for It

We live in a world where we are constantly looking at other people’s lives.

We see the beautiful house.

The successful career.

The happy marriage.

The published book.

The new car.

The expensive vacation.

The beautiful clothes.

The person who seems confident, peaceful, successful, and completely sure of where they are going.

And sometimes, quietly, a thought enters our minds:

Why can’t that be me?

We may never say it aloud.

We may even be ashamed to admit that we feel it.

But envy is human.

It usually begins when we compare what we know about our own lives with what we can see of someone else’s.

And that comparison is almost never fair.

Because we know every painful detail of our own journey.

We know about the nights we cried.

We know about the bills.

We know about the disappointments.

We know about the doors that closed.

We know about the mistakes we wish we could take back.

We know about the prayers that seemed to go unanswered.

But when we look at someone else, we usually see only what survived.

We see the finished house.

We do not see the years of saving.

We see the degree hanging on the wall.

We do not see the student studying at two in the morning.

We see the successful business.

We do not see the years when nobody believed in it.

We see the beautiful marriage.

We do not see the forgiveness, patience, compromise, and difficult conversations that may have been required to keep two people together.

We see the bestselling author holding a finished book.

We do not see the rejected manuscripts, the rewrites, the sleepless nights, or the years when that writer wondered whether anyone would ever care about the stories they had to tell.

We see the crown.
We rarely see what it cost to wear it.

That is why I have come to believe something very simple:

“Envy no one for whatever you see.
A price was paid for it.”

You Don’t Know the Whole Story

There is something dangerous about comparing lives from the outside.

You can admire someone’s strength without knowing what forced them to become strong.

You can envy someone’s independence without knowing what they lost before learning how to stand alone.

You can envy someone’s confidence without knowing how many years they spent believing they were not enough.

You can envy someone’s peace without knowing what they finally had to walk away from to find it.

You can envy someone’s success without knowing how many times they failed before the world finally called them successful.

Sometimes the very thing we envy was born from something we would never have volunteered to endure.

That changes the way we should look at people.

Every Beautiful Thing Has a Backstory

Imagine standing at the bottom of a mountain.

Far above you is someone standing at the top.

From where you are, the view surrounding that person looks magnificent.

You see sunlight.

You see accomplishment.

You see victory.

You may think, I wish I were standing where they are.

But you did not see the climb.

You didn’t see their bleeding feet.

You didn’t see the places where they almost fell.

You didn’t hear them crying when they thought they couldn’t take another step.

You weren’t there when people they loved stopped climbing with them.

You didn’t see how many times they looked toward the top and wondered whether the journey was worth it.

You arrived in time to see the view.
They lived through the climb.

That is the part envy forgets.

Some Prices Cannot Be Seen

Not every price is money.

Sometimes the price is time.

Sometimes it is sacrifice.

Sometimes it is loneliness.

Sometimes it is discipline.

Sometimes it is starting over.

Sometimes it is hearing “no” a hundred times before finally hearing “yes.”

Sometimes the price is leaving people you love because staying means losing yourself.

Sometimes it is forgiving someone who never apologized.

Sometimes it is learning to forgive yourself.

And sometimes the price is surviving something you would never wish on another human being.

There are people walking around today carrying victories that were purchased with tears nobody saw.

That beautiful smile may have survived heartbreak.

That peaceful spirit may have survived chaos.

That confident woman may once have questioned everything about herself.

That strong man may have cried where nobody could see him.

That person you believe has everything may still carry scars beneath clothes expensive enough to hide them.

Success does not erase suffering.

Beauty does not prove an easy life.

Money does not prevent loneliness.

And a smile does not tell you everything happening inside a human heart.

Social Media Makes Us Forget

Today, comparison has become almost effortless.

With one swipe of a finger, we can look into hundreds of lives.

Someone got married.

Someone bought a house.

Someone lost fifty pounds.

Someone signed a book deal.

Someone traveled to Paris.

Someone started a business.

Someone is celebrating an anniversary.

Someone appears to be living the exact life we once imagined for ourselves.

And suddenly our own lives can begin to feel smaller.

But photographs don’t tell complete stories.

A photograph captures a second.
A human life contains years.

We should never compare our entire story to somebody else’s carefully chosen moment.

Their beautiful moment does not diminish ours.

Their success does not mean we have failed.

Their season is not evidence that ours will never come.

And their path was never supposed to be ours.

Admiration Is Different From Envy

There is nothing wrong with seeing something beautiful in another person’s life and saying:

“That inspires me.”

There is nothing wrong with wanting more for yourself.

There is nothing wrong with dreaming bigger.

The danger begins when admiration becomes resentment.

When someone else’s blessing starts feeling like evidence that life has cheated us.

That is when we need to remember:

We don’t know what that person paid.

And more importantly, we don’t know what our own journey is still preparing for us.

Someone else’s harvest does not mean your field is empty.

Perhaps you are still planting.

Perhaps you are still watering.

Perhaps something beneath the soil is growing even though you cannot see it yet.

There Is a Price Behind Your Life Too

Here is the part we often forget.

While you are looking at someone else, somebody may be looking at you.

They may admire something you barely notice anymore.

Your courage.

Your family.

Your creativity.

Your independence.

Your ability to laugh after everything you’ve experienced.

Your willingness to begin again.

Your kindness after people have been unkind to you.

Your ability to keep believing when life has given you reasons to stop.

They see the flower.

You remember the dirt.

They see the strength.

You remember the battle.

They see the person you have become.

You remember everything it cost to become that person.

And maybe that is the lesson.

We are all looking through windows into lives whose complete stories we cannot see.

So Envy No One

The next time you feel envy rising inside you, don’t condemn yourself for being human.

Instead, become curious.

Ask yourself:

“What am I really longing for?”

Maybe envy is pointing toward a dream you have neglected.

Maybe someone else’s courage is reminding you to use your own.

Maybe someone else’s success is showing you what is possible rather than what you lack.

Turn comparison into inspiration.

Then return your attention to your own road.

Because your life is asking something different from you.

Your mountain has a different shape.

Your lessons have different names.

Your timing is different.

Your price will be different.

And your victory will belong to you.

So when you see someone standing in a beautiful place, celebrate them.

When someone finally reaches a dream, applaud them.

When someone receives something you are still waiting for, resist the temptation to believe that their blessing has taken something away from you.

You don’t know the road they traveled.

You don’t know what they surrendered.

You don’t know what they survived.

You don’t know what they had to become.

You are seeing the view.

You did not see the climb.

And someday, someone may look at your life and wonder how you became so strong, so peaceful, so successful, or so sure of yourself.

They may never know about the nights you almost gave up.

They may never know about the tears.

They may never know about the sacrifices.

They may never know how many times you had to begin again.

They will simply see you standing there.

And perhaps that is when you will understand these words more deeply than ever:

Envy no one for whatever you see.

A price was paid for it.

And some of the highest prices are paid in places the world will never see.

Written from the heart by

J. A. Jackson

AUTHOR • STORYTELLER • DREAMER

What If the Family You Were Born Into Had Been Lying to You for Thirty Years?

Some families inherit fortunes. Others inherit secrets. Cierra Cantrell inherited a choice powerful enough to destroy them both.

---

Imagine discovering that your name has been whispered behind closed doors for decades.

That strangers know things about your family that you don’t.

That a mysterious woman has been watching you. Photographing you. Asking questions.

And somewhere inside California’s glittering world of wealth, influence, old money, and carefully protected reputations, there are people who have spent years making certain you never discover why.

That is where Cierra Cantrell’s story begins.

And once she starts asking questions, there may be no going back.

Welcome to THE CROWN AND THE ROSE

A Completely Reimagined Standalone Novel

In The Crown and the Rose, the beautiful surface of California privilege conceals something far more dangerous.

A buried bloodline.

A mysterious inheritance.

A thirty-year-old secret.

A family covenant that was never supposed to come to light.

And a woman who has no idea that she may be standing at the center of it all.

Cierra Cantrell has spent most of her life believing she knows exactly who she is.

She has a family. A history. A name.

Or so she thinks.

Then a mysterious woman begins watching her.

At first, it could almost be dismissed as coincidence.

Until there are photographs.

Questions.

Names Cierra recognizes but cannot connect.

Fragments of a history no one ever bothered to tell her.

What if Cierra’s life has been built around a secret everyone knew except Cierra?

---

The Dead Don’t Always Stay Buried

As Cierra begins pulling at the threads of her family history, everything starts unraveling.

A vanished man may still be alive.

Her mother has concealed a thirty-year connection to one of California’s wealthiest families.

The LaSalle, Cantrell, Vale, and Granger bloodlines are connected by an old covenant whose consequences have survived for generations.

And somewhere beneath all of it lies the mysterious Crown Circle.

Powerful families have spent decades protecting what belongs to them—their money, their reputations, their bloodlines, and their secrets.

But there is one problem.

Cierra Cantrell has started asking the wrong questions.

And the answers may change everything she thought she knew about her mother, her family—and herself.

Then There Is Ryker Granger

Of course, what would a dangerous family secret be without the one man Cierra absolutely should not fall for?

Ryker Granger is powerful, confident, magnetic—and accustomed to getting what he wants.

He understands power.

He understands persuasion.

And he certainly understands desire.

But Cierra presents him with something entirely different.

Because she cannot simply be conquered.

She cannot be inherited.

She cannot be negotiated into someone else’s plans.

And she cannot be taken.

Not in the way that matters.

If Ryker wants Cierra, there are three things she must give him willingly:

Her trust.

Her heart.

Her choice.

And for a man accustomed to taking control, that may prove to be the greatest challenge of all.

But This Love Story Began Long Before Either of Them Knew It

The deeper Cierra travels into the mystery, the more disturbing the truth becomes.

Generations of powerful people have treated marriages, inheritances, relationships—and even children—as pieces on an elaborate chessboard.

Love became strategy.

Marriage became leverage.

Blood became currency.

Secrets became protection.

And people became expendable.

Until Cierra.

Because the people who created this game made one critical mistake.

They underestimated the woman they placed at the center of it.

Cierra must uncover the truth behind the Crown Circle, the hidden LaSalle Covenant, and an inheritance powerful enough to threaten everything these families have spent generations protecting.

But there is another question she must answer.

Perhaps the most important one of all.

Is Ryker Granger standing beside her because their lives were connected long before either of them understood why?

Is he another piece in someone else’s carefully arranged game?

Or is he the one thing no covenant, inheritance, bloodline, or family secret could have planned?

The man she chooses for herself.

---

A Story About More Than an Inheritance

At its heart, The Crown and the Rose asks a deceptively simple question:

How much of our destiny belongs to the people who came before us—and how much belongs to us?

Cierra inherits more than secrets.

She inherits unfinished business, old betrayals, unanswered questions, and choices previous generations were either unwilling—or unable—to make.

But inheritance does not have to mean obedience.

Blood does not have to determine destiny.

And love is not truly love unless there is a choice.

That is the battle waiting for Cierra Cantrell.

Not simply discovering who she is.

But deciding who she intends to become once she knows the truth.

Enter the World of THE CROWN AND THE ROSE

If you love romantic suspense filled with old-money intrigue, seductive romance, buried family secrets, mysterious bloodlines, dangerous inheritances, shocking revelations, powerful families, and a heroine determined to uncover the truth, I invite you to enter Cierra and Ryker’s world.

But be warned.

Once the first secret is uncovered, there is always another waiting beneath it.

And sometimes the most dangerous inheritance isn’t money.

It’s the truth.

THE CROWN AND THE ROSE

A Completely Reimagined Standalone Novel

Some families inherit fortunes.
Others inherit secrets.
Cierra Cantrell inherited a choice powerful enough to destroy them both.

Because some legacies are inherited.
Some are stolen.
And some must be destroyed before love can finally be free.

READ THE CROWN AND THE ROSE

By J. A. Jackson

---

Romantic Suspense • Family Secrets • Old Money • Forbidden Truths • Dangerous Inheritances • Passion • Mystery

Thank You, Dolly Parton

January 19, 1946 – August 25, 2026

Today, my heart is heavy as I say goodbye to a beautiful lady whose music has been a part of my life since I was a little girl.

Thank you, Dolly Parton.

I grew up as a Black child in rural Arkansas during a time when there were no Black radio stations where we lived. If we wanted to hear music on the radio, we listened to the country stations and waited patiently, hoping they might play a little Soul or R&B.

But something wonderful happened while I was waiting.

I fell in love with country music.

And I fell in love with the music of a beautiful young woman from the mountains of Tennessee named Dolly Parton.

Dolly's voice came through that little radio and reached places she could never have known. Her songs told stories about family, poverty, heartbreak, dreams, working people, strong women, and finding the courage to keep going.

She sang about a Coat of Many Colors and somehow reminded us that riches aren't always measured by money.

She sang about love so deeply that generations would carry her words in their hearts.

And through it all, Dolly remained unmistakably Dolly—rhinestones, big hair, laughter, faith, humor, generosity, and that beautiful Tennessee voice.

Music doesn't ask what color you are before it touches your heart.

What I didn't understand as a child was that music was teaching me something.

There I was, a little Black girl in rural Arkansas, listening to a country radio station because that was what we had—and Dolly Parton's music found me anyway.

Decades later, I still remember.

That is the power of music.
That is the power of a storyteller.
And that is the legacy of Dolly Parton.

She gave the world far more than songs. She gave children books. She gave people hope. She gave generously to people she would never meet. She made people laugh. And she showed generations of women that you could be feminine, funny, intelligent, ambitious, kind, successful, and completely yourself.

So today I don't simply want to say goodbye.

I want to say:

Thank You, Dolly.

Thank you for the songs.
Thank you for the stories.

Thank you for making a little girl in rural Arkansas fall in love with country music while she was waiting for the radio to play some Soul.

Thank you for all the laughter, kindness, sparkle, and love you scattered across this world.

Job well done, beautiful lady.

You worked a lifetime.
You gave a lifetime.
You loved a lifetime.

Now sleep peacefully and enjoy the rest you so richly deserve.

And somewhere, an old radio is still playing...
and another little girl is discovering your music for the very first time.

A Little Poem for Dolly

Rest Now, Dolly

Rest now, Dolly, lay your burdens down,
Trade the rhinestones for a heavenly crown.
The mountain girl who dared to dream
Became for millions a light that gleamed.

Your songs crossed mountains, roads, and years,
They carried laughter, love, and tears.
Across every boundary, near and far,
You taught us how to wish upon a star.

A little Black girl in Arkansas
Once heard your voice with childhood awe.
She waited for Soul on the radio dial,
But country music made her stay awhile.

And somewhere between the songs she'd known,
Your Tennessee voice became her own—
A memory carried through the years,
Through happiness, heartache, dreams, and tears.

So rest now, Dolly. Your work is done.
Your final earthly song has been sung.
But love like yours does not depart—
It simply finds another heart.

The mountains will remember.
The radio will remember.
And those of us who grew up with you
will always remember.

Rest Well, Dolly Parton.

Thank you for the music.
Thank you for the memories.
Thank you for being you.

With love from one little girl from rural Arkansas who grew up,
but never forgot the beautiful lady singing on the radio.

♥   ♪   ♥

Enter the World of The Contractual Fiancée

An ancient queen. A forgotten bloodline. A contractual fiancé. A destiny waiting to awaken.

Coming to Amazon 2026–2027

---

What if the history you thought was buried was actually waiting for you?

What if an ancient queen had left behind more than a legend?

And what if falling in love with the one person you were never supposed to love became part of a destiny neither of you could escape?

Welcome to the world of The Contractual Fiancée.

I’m J. A. Jackson, and I’m inviting you into a story filled with romance, mystery, suspense, ancient secrets, supernatural danger, and two people who discover that some promises are much more powerful than words written on paper.

But more than anything, I want to introduce you to Olivia Jackson, Rowan DeVille, and Queen Califia.

Because their story is about to become much bigger than any of them imagined.

---

What Will You Find Inside The Contractual Fiancée?

If you enjoy stories where romance and mystery grow together, this book was written with you in mind.

• A slow-burning romance between Olivia Jackson and Rowan DeVille
• A mysterious contractual engagement that becomes increasingly real
• The legendary Queen Califia reimagined through fantasy and suspense
• A forgotten bloodline tied to California’s ancient past
• Family secrets and buried histories
• An ancient covenant called The Living Veil
• Dangerous discoveries beneath the mountains
• Supernatural mysteries that challenge what Olivia believes about history—and herself
• A hero who must decide how far he is willing to go to protect the woman beside him
• A heroine who refuses to surrender her identity, even when destiny demands something extraordinary from her

Can we inherit a destiny without surrendering the right to choose who we become?

Who Is This Book For?

The Contractual Fiancée is for the reader who wants more than a love story.

It is for you if you love romantic suspense, fantasy, ancient mysteries, powerful women, family secrets, supernatural legends, dangerous discoveries, emotional relationships, and stories where the past refuses to remain buried.

It is also for the reader who wants a heroine who isn't simply waiting to be rescued.

Olivia is intelligent, stubborn, curious, and deeply connected to history.

Then history starts talking back.

Rowan is supposed to be part of a contract.

Instead, he may become the person Olivia trusts when everything she knows about herself begins to disappear.

And standing between their present and an unimaginable future is a queen whose story was never truly finished.

Queen Califia.

---

A Special Preview from Chapter 9

The Queen Inside Her

The mountain inhaled.

Rowan felt it beneath his boots—a deep, ancient expansion moving through the stone, as if the earth had awakened from a sleep so long it had forgotten the shape of breath.

Golden light flooded the Archive.

It poured from the newly opened walls, slipped through hairline fractures in the granite, and shimmered across shelves carved directly into the mountain. Thousands of journals trembled in their alcoves. Their leather covers lifted and fell. Pages turned without hands. Ink moved across parchment in dark, glistening lines.

The entire chamber whispered.

Names.
Promises.
Confessions.
Deaths.

Olivia stood at the center of it all.

Her arms hung loosely at her sides. Her dark curls lifted in the strange current circling her body. Light moved beneath her skin, tracing the veins at her throat and wrists in delicate threads of gold.

Her eyes had changed.

They were still Olivia’s eyes—deep brown, intelligent, guarded—but another color moved behind them now.

Amber.
Molten and luminous.
Older than the tunnel.
Older than the lake.

Rowan took one careful step toward her.

“Olivia?”

Her gaze found him.

For one suspended second, relief nearly brought him to his knees.

She knew him.

He saw recognition in the slight widening of her eyes. Saw Olivia in the way her fingers curled against her palms, as though she were trying to hold on to something only she could feel.

Then her expression changed.

Her shoulders settled.
Her chin lifted.

The woman looking at him possessed Olivia’s face, but she wore it with the stillness of someone who had once commanded armies.

“Guardian,” she said.

The voice came from Olivia’s mouth.

But it was layered.

One voice young and breathless.

The other low, regal, and touched by an echo that rolled through every chamber of the Archive.

Rowan’s hand tightened around the flashlight he had forgotten he was holding.

“My name is Rowan.”

“I know your name.”

The golden current swept outward.

The flashlight flickered and died.

Darkness should have followed, but there was no darkness left in the Archive. Symbols burned across the walls, revealing maps hidden beneath centuries of mineral deposits. Coastlines. Rivers. Mountains. Missions. Settlements that no longer existed.

California as it had been.
California as it might have become.

Behind Rowan, Maya whispered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer, although she had spent the last hour insisting she did not pray.

Dr. Graves stood several feet away, utterly motionless.

The color had drained from his face.

He looked neither triumphant nor afraid.

He looked broken.

“Califia,” he breathed.

Olivia’s head turned.

The light inside her flared.

Dr. Graves staggered as though struck.

For the first time since Rowan had met him, the old man’s composure shattered completely. His mouth opened, but no words emerged. His eyes glistened. His hands shook at his sides.

He moved toward her.

Rowan immediately stepped between them.

Graves stopped.

“Move.”

“No.”

“You do not understand what stands before you.”

“I understand Olivia is standing behind me.”

“She is not merely Olivia.”

“That doesn’t make her yours.”

Pain flashed across Graves’s face so quickly Rowan almost missed it.

Almost.

Then the old scholar’s expression hardened.

“She was mine before your bloodline learned to build houses from stolen trees.”

The chamber reacted.

Shelves groaned.
Dust sifted from the ceiling.

Olivia—or the woman inside her—raised one hand.

“Enough.”

The single word struck the room with the force of a bell.

Every page stopped turning.
Every whisper ceased.

Silence settled over the Archive.

Rowan kept his body between Olivia and Graves, though every instinct told him the greater danger might be behind him now.

A warm hand touched the center of his back.

Olivia’s hand.

The contact was light, almost uncertain.

He turned slowly.

Her face had softened.

“Rowan?”

This time, it was her voice.

Only hers.

He caught her by the shoulders as her knees buckled.

“Easy.”

She inhaled sharply and clutched the front of his shirt.

Her eyes squeezed shut.

“Something is inside me.”

“I know.”

“No.” Her fingers tightened. “You don’t.”

Her body trembled against him.

Rowan drew her closer before he could stop himself. One arm wrapped around her waist. The other cradled the back of her head, protecting her from a threat he could not see.

Olivia pressed her forehead against his chest.

“She remembers things I’ve never lived.”

“What things?”

“A city.” Her voice broke. “Gold walls. Black horses. Women carrying spears. The ocean below cliffs that don’t exist anymore.”

Dr. Graves stepped forward.

Rowan glared at him.

Graves stopped again, but his attention never left Olivia.

“What else?” he asked softly.

Olivia lifted her head.

For an instant, anger moved through her features.

Then grief.

Then a love so profound Rowan felt like an intruder simply witnessing it.

“A garden at dusk,” she whispered.

Graves’s breath caught.

“Blue fire in bronze bowls,” Olivia continued. “Jasmine climbing the southern wall. A man waiting beneath the cypress tree.”

Graves closed his eyes.

“Califia.”

Olivia recoiled.

“No.”

The golden light beneath her skin surged violently.

She cried out and bent double.

Rowan caught her before she hit the stone.

The Archive exploded with sound.

Every journal slammed open.

Thousands of voices rushed through the chamber at once.

Keeper.
Guardian.
Betrayer.
Bride.
Queen.
Doorway.

Maya covered her ears.

“Make it stop!”

“I can’t,” Olivia gasped.

Rowan lowered to the floor with her. “Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“She’s pulling me somewhere.”

“Then take me with you.”

Olivia stared at him.

His own words hit him a heartbeat too late.

He had not thought.
He had not planned.

He only knew that wherever Olivia was going, he could not stand safely on this side and let her disappear.

“Rowan—”

“Look at me.”

Her gaze locked onto his.

The noise faded.

Not completely, but enough.

Rowan placed one hand against her cheek.

Her skin was fever-warm.

“You’re Olivia Jackson,” he said. “You restore damaged things because you refuse to let history be erased. You drink coffee strong enough to remove paint. You organize pencils by hardness and pretend that’s normal.”

A tiny, breathless laugh escaped her.

“There you are.”

Her eyes filled.

“You think insulting my coffee is going to save me?”

“I’ve had worse plans.”

“You jumped from a helicopter without waiting for clearance.”

“That was one time.”

“Three.”

“Stay with me, Olivia.”

Her smile vanished.

The plea had slipped out stripped of humor.

She heard it.
So did Graves.
So did Maya.

Rowan did not care.

Olivia reached up and covered the hand against her cheek.

Their breathing slowed together.

The light in her eyes dimmed from blazing amber to a faint ring around her pupils.

Then the Archive vanished.

Not the chamber itself.

Rowan remained kneeling on stone, Olivia held against him, Maya behind them, and Graves watching with haunted eyes.

But Olivia was elsewhere.

She stood barefoot on black sand.

An ocean stretched before her beneath a sky filled with unfamiliar stars. Waves rolled toward shore in silence, their edges glowing blue.

Olivia looked down.

She wore a long white gown belted in gold. Her hands were her own. Her body was her own.

For the moment.

A woman stood near the water.

She was taller than Olivia had imagined, with deep brown skin touched by moonlight and a crown of hammered gold resting over thick black braids. Her gown was crimson, its fabric shifting like flame. A curved blade hung at one hip. Gold cuffs encircled both wrists.

She did not look like a ghost.

She looked alive.

Powerful.

Tired.

Queen Califia turned.

Her eyes were the same amber now burning inside Olivia.

“You are frightened,” she said.

Olivia wrapped her arms around herself.

“You’re inside my body.”

“I am within your memory.”

“That is not reassuring.”

“No.” A faint smile touched the Queen’s mouth. “I suppose it is not.”

“Are you taking me over?”

Califia looked toward the silent sea.

“If I wished to take your body, you would not be standing here to question me.”

Olivia believed her.

That frightened her more.

“What do you want?”

---

And That Is Where I Have to Leave You...

What does Queen Califia want from Olivia Jackson?

Why has she awakened now?

Why did she call Rowan Guardian?

And what happens when a woman discovers that the history she has spent her life preserving is alive inside her?

You'll have to enter the world of The Contractual Fiancée to discover the answers.

---

What This Story Promises You

When you spend your time with one of my books, I want to give you something in return.

I want to entertain you.

I want to give you mysteries that make you turn another page because you need to know what happens next.

I want to give you romance that grows through trust, danger, vulnerability, attraction, sacrifice, and choice.

I want to introduce you to a Queen Califia who is powerful, complicated, commanding, and impossible to forget.

And I want to inspire you.

Because beneath the fantasy, mystery, danger, and romance, Olivia's journey asks something very human:

Who gets to decide who you are?

Your family?
Your history?
Your past?
The expectations placed upon you?

Or you?

Olivia may have inherited an extraordinary destiny.

But accepting her heritage and surrendering herself to it are two very different things.

That struggle is at the heart of The Contractual Fiancée.

---

Will You Come Back and Discover What Happens Next?

The Contractual Fiancée is Coming Soon to Amazon in 2026–2027.

I would love for you to be part of this journey before the book arrives.

Be among the first readers to know when The Contractual Fiancée is released.

💗 BE THE FIRST TO KNOW

Join my reader community for book news, previews, new stories, giveaways, and release announcements.

Join My Reader Community:
Be the First to Know

Visit My Author Blog:
jerreeceannjackson.blogspot.com

Follow Me on Medium:
jerreecejackson.medium.com

Discover My Books on Amazon:
Visit Author J. A. Jackson on Amazon

Email:
jerreecejackson@yahoo.com

Thank you for spending a little time inside Olivia and Rowan's world.

I hope Queen Califia has already left you wondering what comes next.

And when The Contractual Fiancée arrives, I hope you'll come with me to discover the answer.

Some histories are recorded.

Some histories are forgotten.

And some are only sleeping.

— Author J. A. Jackson